


It Was All Just…

by greenmage128



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode: s09e16 Blade Runners, Heavy Angst, M/M, you decide which it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a side effect to human blood addiction that Crowley never mentioned, though perhaps there's a reason for that. Interlude to 9x16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was All Just…

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 29, 2014. Just some Season 9 Growley angst. You know. No big deal. *uncontrollable sobbing*

Crowley had triple-checked the wards before allowing himself any kind of rest, so when he felt them disturbed, he knew there was only one being in all of Creation it could possibly be.

“Took you long enough,” he said into his glass of third-rate scotch.

“You moved,” was the reply, the usual snark worn thin.

He glanced up at his visitor, who seemed paler than when Crowley had seen him last, face gaunt and ashen, but those golden eyes still held their mischievous gleam, bright in the dim gloom of the safe-house.

“Had to. Your brother didn’t give me much choice,” Crowley said. He put down his glass and sat up, opening his arms in invitation.

The angel slid into his lap without further provocation, hands running over his arms, his shoulders, through his hair in a life-affirming touch that was unusual for them, but given the circumstances Crowley didn’t dare complain about how maudlin any of it was. “You don’t have to worry about him any more.”

The skeptical look Crowley gave him couldn’t be helped. This was not a time of miracle and wonder, at least not for him. “That’s not what I heard, though the grapevine’s a bit short these days.”

“Luci’s clever,” and a smile pulled at the angel’s lips, warm and sly and everything Crowley never thought he would miss until he did. “But you can’t out-trick a trickster. You taught me that, cupcake.”

Crowley pulled him closer, arms encircling his waist, wishing deep down in a part of him he’d never admit to owning that he could keep him there forever. Lips ghosting against his (yes, his, his, _his_ ) angel’s, he said, “Glad to see something rubbed off on you.”

“Crowley.” The word was milk and honey to his ears, to hear that voice say his name, when he thought he’d never hear it again.

“I’m not going anywhere, angel.”

“Crowley,” that voice said again. Enraptured as he was, Crowley missed the shift in tone, the dissonance that had the room wavering at the edges.

All he could do was utter the angel’s name in return, whispering it like a prayer against his lips, afraid to give it more voice, as though he would escape with the sound.

“Crowley!”

This time he did notice, couldn’t escape the sharpness and decided femininity in that voice. The darkness of the room gave way to yellow and white and beige, never gold, not even close. Crowley tried one more time to get it all back, to put the angel in his arms once more, but it was no use.

“Gab—”

“Crowley, wake up! Your pizza’s here, my King.”

The dream was gone.


End file.
